


What Remains for Tomorrow

by adarksweetness (chayaasi)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Asthmatic Steve Rogers, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 03:32:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9800888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chayaasi/pseuds/adarksweetness
Summary: Steve has a one-night stand on Sunday, and a job interview on Monday. Guess who is his potential boss’s son?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishipallthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipallthings/gifts).



Six in the morning, and the world is just starting to wake up. Steve’s in the middle of the city, but deep enough into a nicer area that he can only hear traffic from a distance. The local noise is still crickets and sprinklers, and the occasional van rolling in with deliveries to the rich and famous dwelling here in the heart of Manhattan.

Steve’s sure enough he’s not going to get mugged here, and he’s tempted to savor the brightening solitude, but he can also feel the dull scratch of anxiety at the back of his mind. Maybe if it was a Saturday, he could have savored the pleasant ache in his body, given in to the compulsion to smile like a dope and be less concerned about his terrible bed head. If it were a Saturday, he wouldn’t have even gotten out of bed.

But here he is, loitering on the street on a Monday morning, thin frame wrapped in a shirt that was conspicuously missing a few buttons and definitely not fooling the throng of blue collar workers making their way to their employers’ terrifically expensive condos. Steve is just in the process of politely refusing a squished granola bar from the cavernous tote bag of a sweet granny type who speaks little English, but clearly manages to convey that she thinks he’s pillow pet who’s been kicked out before some rich-and-famous’s spouse returned, when he hears the familiar roar of Bucky’s motorcycle. Steve hastily thanks granny, vows to learn a little Vietnamese, and bolts.

He jumps on the back of the bike and hastily taps the side of Bucky’s hip. “Go go go!”

“Aw, runnin’ out on your girlfriend, Stevie?”

“Buck!” Steve grits his teeth desperately.

Bucky just laughs and tosses the spare helmet back.

“So,” he says happily, once Steve is all strapped in and they’re on the way back to their apartment on a less manicured side of town. “This all seems wildly irresponsible.”

-

_Steve woke up to the sound of the radio playing low, like it was meant to be background noise than anything else. A cursory glance showed the bed was empty beside him. Steve shuddered into further wakefulness and picked up on the sound of running water coming from the adjoining bathroom._

_Right. He fell back on the bed with a huff, crumpled sheets keeping the bare minimum of his modesty in check, and stared up at the chandelier. The bathroom door opened just then. Steve let his head fall to the side and smiled at a very gorgeous and equally naked Tony. It dawned on Steve that he was enough of an art nerd to look at him paused in the doorway and think of Donatello’s David._

_“Hey.”_

_Tony looked briefly startled, but a smile spread across his face before Steve could think anything about it, and the next thing he knew, Tony took a flying leap and cannonballed into his arms. The sheets tangled further around their winding legs, fingers intertwined, and mouths pressed against each other like they hadn’t spent the last twelve hours together._

_Tony tasted like mint and fresh water and his eyes sparkled like the insets in the chandelier above. “Let’s just do this all day,” he suggested. “I’ll order breakfast; whatever you want, from wherever you want.”_

_That made Steve laugh. He couldn’t help but think that if Tony bottled and sold his apparent ability to make endorphins happen, he’d make a killing. Not that Tony was in any dire need of money; no, judging by how he hadn’t yet let go of Steve, it was pretty obvious what he did need._

_And Steve was happy to give it. He ran his hands along slim thighs resting between his own; he kissed Tony’s palm when it brushed his cheek, and god, it was tempting, this offer to roll around in bed all day. Surely, there were some errands he could put off for another weekend. Steve just let his eyes fall shut to try and recall his schedule, and the radio drifted in._

_‘You’re listening to NPR and it is Monday 6:15 AM’—what?!_

_“Fuck!” Steve shot up so fast that he dislodged Tony, who landed beside him with a small ‘oof!’._

_“Ow?” he complained, but Steve was too busy grabbing at his phone and staring in shock at a number of missed calls from Bucky, and a text from Sharon wishing him luck on the first day of his new job._

_Fuck fuck fuck!_

_“I have to go,” he wheezed at Tony, who was still sprawled in bed with his chin in his hands as he watched Steve wrestle his clothes on. His eyes weren’t quite so bright anymore._

_“Uh-huh.”_

_“No, I don’t mean…I’m proposing. A lady…” Steve winced at the look on Tony’s face. His brain could handle threading his belt and texting Bucky at once, but clearly drew the line at adding coherent speech. Hitting send on the text begging his best friend to pick him up from his ‘night out’, Steve took a breath._

_“Sorry, I meant, I have to make a proposal to someone kind of important today. God, I can’t believe I forgot! It’s been on my calendar for a month.”_

_“Not the marriage kind, I’m guessing?” Tony asked. Steve wondered if it was normal to be this stupidly pleased that he was smiling again._

_“No, just the work kind, I’m afraid.” He swallowed thickly when Tony stretched on the bed, arching ridiculously and then slipping off in a pile of sheets and long limbs._

_“Yeah, I have to be somewhere too,” Tony said ruefully. He padded over to Steve, still naked, and poked his chest. “You’re free for dinner, right?”_

_-_

“You’re telling me that our boy here, who literally would not shut up about this contract with the Stark Foundation, had to be picked up from a one night stand on the first day.”

“Tragic, isn’t it?” Bucky replies.

“I blame you,” says Sam. “Ten PM, and did you know where your best friend was?”

“Did you?”

“Hey, I have a real job. You work from home, Steve’s your responsibility.”

The barstool creaks when Bucky settles on it. “He’s a cry for help.”

Steve spits the last of the toothpaste into the sink and ducks out to glare at his friends. “First of all, neither of you are my parents,” he says, pointing the toothbrush viciously at both of them. “Second of all, how come you two can get along to rag on me, but can’t bother when I...I don’t know, have an important client?”

To their credit, Sam and Bucky exchange a look that might have been apologetic about the whole Prince of Wakanda incident, but it all becomes moot when Sam asks, “So, does that guy like cats or…?”

“Oh my god!” Steve rolls his eyes incredulously and disappears back into the bathroom as Sam doggedly follows up with, “Dude shows up dressed like a cat, Steve; you weren’t even a little curious?”

“Anyway, we still wanna know who kept you out all night when you had a job today.” Bucky sings when he doesn’t answer. “Come on, Stevie, don’t make us hold your portfolio hostage.”

Steve dashes back out, shirt halfway buttoned and a severe look on his face. Sam and Bucky just smile back at him serenely. Not that he should have expected anything else—his friends might be assholes, but they knew better than to mess with his work. They latch on to his relief, though, and loom over the counter like cats that spotted cream.

“I…ah, geeze,” Steve focuses on smoothing his shirt down and hunting for his jacket to combat the blush climbing over his cheeks. “His name’s Tony. He’s well off, I guess…young, though.”

“How young?”

Steve resists the urge to mess up his combed hair with a nervous gesture. “Uh, he was at Triskelion for his twenty-first birthday.”

This time Bucky and Sam exchange another look of high strung exasperation. 

“Steve, you’re only twenty five, not ninety, so don’t think you’re cradle robbing or anything.” Bucky says. “Although, I question why a guy who lives in the kinda place I picked you up at is celebrating his day of legal booze at Triskelion.”

-

_He asked Tony as much and Tony just grinned, warm and lush and impossibly attractive in his birthday suit._

_“Why were you, uh…?”_

_“Slummin’ in the city in my fancy heels?” Tony laughed. And how was Steve supposed to resist leaning up to kiss him?_

_“So,” he murmured against Tony’s lips when they parted. “Were you searching for an urchin, or what?”_

_Tony exhaled in a long sigh, and pushed him back so Steve’s back hit the impossibly soft mattress again and his palms slid up Tony’s thighs. “You’re a smart guy, Steve, artist extraordinaire,” he said. “I’m sure you don’t think today was really my first time drinking.”_

_Steve hummed affirmative. He didn’t think too many first timers went for the whiskey._

_“This huge deal about my 21_ _ st _ _, it’s mostly for the show. I’m sure Dad’s expecting me to head downtown and make the glamour section. Maybe even get locked up.”_

_“Tony!”_

_Tony snickered, looked down at Steve like he was adorable. “Relax, I’d get bailed out in an hour, tops, and nobody would talk about it again. Told you it’s just for show.”_

_If Tony expected Steve to be ok with that explanation, he was wrong. It just made him more protective of this boy he’d only met a couple hours ago. But who was he to tell Tony what was what? Steve stroked heavily down Tony’s thighs, himself warm with drink. “Ok,” he said instead. “So, you’re rebelling against your parents by having a quiet night in?”_

_“Just my dad,” Tony drawled. “…and…” he slid down Steve’s legs in a sinuous move that made his mouth go dry, and parted his thighs without breaking eye contact. “…I’m hoping I won’t be quiet for long.”_

_-_

At 9 AM sharp, Steve finds himself sitting on an expensive microfiber couch, draped tastefully with a throw rug. His clothes are neat, his hair is combed, his portfolio is stacked with several excellent examples of why he should lead the branding effort for the newly minted Maria Stark Foundation.

There’s a strange, premonitory quality to the air that Steve chalks up to nerves. Not for the first time this morning, he chides himself for going drinking before the interview. He wants this job, he should have acted like it. But then, a vision of Tony’s firework grin flashes through his mind and Steve can’t bring himself to regret his life choices too much.

Steve absently scratches a bruised spot on his chest, remnant of an ardent hickey, and already thinks about their meeting tonight. He imagines greeting Tony with good news, easily envisions the delighted kiss that would come after.

“I told you!” Tony would say, probably against Steve’s lips because he’d be too impatient to wait until they finished kissing. And Steve would laugh--

“Mr. Rogers?” 

The door to the main office stands wide open and a redheaded assistant looks inquiringly over at Steve, who sits up and banishes his decidedly unprofessional train of thought.

 “You can go in now,” the assistant says. 

There’s someone playing piano in the far corner of the studio when Steve enters. The piece sounds good, albeit halting, as if it were still being practiced. Steve can’t see who, but doesn’t think they should be the focus of his attention anyway. Howard Stark greets him with an air of severity from behind the cherrywood desk.

“The artist,” he says. “Rogers, is it? Stephen?”

“Steve, sir, and yes.”

The melody on the piano hits a sour note and falters.

A frown crosses Howard’s brow. “Unfortunately, Maria couldn’t be here, but she shortlisted you, so you must have something worth a look.” He turns to the piano with a somewhat sardonic curl to his lip. “Anthony, would you like to join us?”

A few more notes tinkle out of the piano before it finally stops. There’s a shuffling noise, and Steve finally turns to cast a look at Anthony--

\--and immediately breaks into gooseflesh. Sure, he has on more clothes and his hair is neatly combed back, but Anthony and his talents on the piano are none other than his Tony. Tony, who immediately gives a knowing smile as he crosses over to the desk, and Steve has to quickly school his features before Howard can notice. Speaking of which, how did Tony end up in Howard’s office?

It becomes more obvious when Tony gets closer. _Oh please,_ Steve thinks, _don’t let it be--_

“My son,” Howard says.

Steve smiles wanly. “Oh.”

Tony bites his lip to keep from laughing.

_-_

_Tony grinned delightedly and swaggered closer to Steve’s side of the pool table. He raised his eyebrows and made sure Steve was watching before sliding up to sit on the edge and position his pool stick behind him._

_There were dollar bills lying on yet another edge-- crumpled 5’s from Steve’s pocket and a tidy 20 from Tony’s. It was the first time Steve had ever taken up a random stranger’s offer of a game, but it wasn’t exactly a hustle. Steve hadn’t been fooled by Tony’s pretend fumbling more than he’d been distracted by how much the guy liked to put on a show, and then by his smile._

_They knew each other for less than an hour, but Tony was somewhat of a rubik’s cube, and Steve liked a challenge._

_“You’re not going to make it,” he predicted, eyeing the layout of targets on the felt._

_Tony cast a disdainful glance. “Yes, I will._

_Steve didn’t reply to that; he just made an acquiescing gesture and leaned heavily on his pool stick._

_Tony licked his lips, took the shot, and--he didn’t make it. Bafflement looked adorable on him, though, Steve thought before he could stop himself._

_“No, my math was right,” Tony slid off the edge and insisted. “I should have gotten the three and four.”_

_“You factor in how much you drank?”_

_Tony shot him another look. “Of course, I did.”_

_And yet, the pockets remained empty. Steve glided over to the table, judged the angles, and positioned his own stick. He took his shot, and both his targets obediently rolled into their goal. “You sure about that?” he asked Tony._

_“Well,” Tony stepped into his space. “I might not have factored in how distracting you were.”_

_Steve could feel the warmth of their proximity and felt warm himself, looking at Tony’s lips. He’d come into Triskelion for a quick drink and a solitary game of pool to calm his nerves about his proposal tomorrow. He was supposed to have left an hour ago and should have been getting ready for a full night’s rest right about now, if not for some trashtalking punk challenging him._

_Sadly, said punk was also ridiculously attractive and being near him thrilled Steve. He brushed his hand along Tony’s waist before either of them knew what they were doing. Tony looked startled for a moment, but then exhaled a soft, contented ‘ah’ as his whole body language melted into willingness. Steve could feel his heart jump, but wrapping his arm around Tony’s waist felt as natural as curling his fingers around a paintbrush; so did pulling Tony forward until kissing him was inevitable._

_Obviously it never occurred to either of them to be shy. Steve was raring to go by the time Tony said, “You wanna get out of here?”_

-

“Get out of here,” Tony gushes. “These are incredible!”

Pages turn noisily in his hands, but it’s not enough to mask the sound of Steve’s heart beating in his own ears. This feels ridiculously unfair. There’s a part of him that’s quite rightly mortified that the cute young thing that he’d hooked up with last night is his potential boss’s son. Then, there’s another, arguably bigger, part of Steve that watches Tony’s sincere delight in his craft and imagines reaching across the desk to kiss Tony until they were both breathless.

But that’s no way to think about a man’s son in his direct presence.

“Thank you,” Steve says instead, voice skirting a new and apparently razor thin line he’s discovered between giddy affection and gracious professionalism.

Tony glances up and smiles back impishly. Howard pointedly clears his throat.

“Slow down, Anthony,” he advises. “We have a few more candidates to go before we decide--”

“--decide who to get in bed with. I _know_ ,” Tony drones long-sufferingly, and Steve quickly disguises a strangled groan behind a cough.  

“Exactly,” Howard says in the dry tones of one used to Tony’s behavior for roughly two decades. “Glad to see you enthusiastically involved in the proceedings, for once.”

“Oh, you know me,” Tony lifts his chin to smile at Steve, and takes his time licking the tip of his finger before turning another page. “I see something I like, I have to be hands on.”

Christ. So, this is how it’s going to be.

Steve offers an eulogy for the weeks he’d spent practicing his answers to every professional curveball he might be thrown, because who could have predicted Tony Stark? Who could have predicted that the stranger Steve spent all night bending over various fancy furniture would appear at his interview and start firing off innuendo?

Whoever it was, they should also have known Steve wasn’t the type to back down.

“I’m glad you think so...Anthony,” he replies, dragging each syllable out on his tongue for as long as he dared. “Always happy to meet a fan of my work.”

“Oh, call me Tony,” comes the hurried reply, just before Tony leans casually on the desk and gestures at the illustrations. “And I’m curious: where does all this magic happen?”

“If I’m not working on-site with a client, have a setup at home, where I probably spend too much of my time,” Steve shrugs some of the stiffness from his shoulders and gives a short laugh. “I know you must think being bent over a drafting table for hours is awful, but it’s actually a lot of fun.” He pauses for effect before adding. “I enjoy it, anyway.”

It takes a moment for Tony to find his voice. “Honestly, I can see where you’re coming from,” he says, rougher than before. “So, do you work alone? Or is there someone helping out on that drafting board?”

“Well, they say too many tugs spoil the weave,” answers Steve, knowing full well that nobody ever said that. “I tend to be picky about who I work with, but sometimes--well, it’s entirely possible, you meet someone by chance and you just click.”

Winking flirtatiously might be inappropriate for the setting, but Steve has enough meaningful looks and bashful smiles in his repertoire to slip one under Howard’s radar.

On the other hand, Tony’s lopsided grin doesn’t quite cover the faint red on his cheeks. He casts his eyes down endearingly. “That sounds--”

“Needlessly romantic,” Howard interjects. He directs a sharp look at Tony. “Young Ms. Van Dyne rubbing off on you?”

Tony snickers. “No, I don’t think it’s me Jan wants to--” he trails off when Howard’s expression grows admonishing, and seamlessly rounds on Steve instead.

“Jan’s my friend,” Tony informs him. “But just a friend! Not like my girlfriend or anything. Just so we’re clear.”

“Uh, quite,” Steve nods, telling himself it’s not mollification he feels. Luckily, Howard seems too exasperated by his son to notice Steve’s inner melodrama.

“I think you’ve wasted enough of Rogers’ time today,” he says, and Steve winces when he plucks the samples from Tony’s hands. “Now, if you don’t have real questions, you know where the door is.”

“But I have questions,” Tony insists. Quickly, before Howard can object, he asks, “So, Steve, why do you want to work for the Maria Stark foundation? Besides the perks, the prestige, and the great work we do?”

Steve’s eyebrow twitches. He’s no longer surprised by cheeky questions, but it’s disquieting the way Tony resolutely avoids eye contact with his father. And as for Howard himself, Steve tucks the man’s callousness away in the back of his mind before his objection to it shows on his face.

“For me, it’s the people,” he answers finally. “I first got to know of Mrs. Stark’s work through the hospital charity, when my Ma was admitted.”

Tony lifts his eyes, somber but clearly curious. Howard remains impassive as ever.

“She patched us through to some good treatments; experimental stuff we wouldn’t have known about,” Steve continues. “Ma didn’t make it, but thanks to Mrs. Stark, I know it wasn’t for lack of trying. This is my way of giving back.”

Tony’s lips move. Steve can see them form the familiar ‘I’m sorry’ but Howard gets in first.

“Giving back what exactly?” he asks, even and unimpressed. “You don’t have enterprise clients or global experience.”

“But I have done my homework,” Steve counters smoothly. “The Foundation is still facing a public opinion problem--what with Stark Industries manufacturing weapons and the Foundation seeking to aid war-torn regions. If you turn to page eleven, my proposal to reconcile that is right there.”

For the first time, Howard looks interested. Steve keeps one eye on the elder Stark reading through his proposal and the other on Tony, who no longer seems as enthusiastic as Howard had liked. He scratches the side of his head, fingers carding nervously through black hair and trying hard to be subtle about it.

The urge to clasp that hand and kiss the nerves away makes Steve restless. He curls his palms on the desk, focuses on the cool wood before he does something stupid.

“Not bad,” Howard finally passes his verdict. “Could use a few improvements, but it’ll fool enough folks with deep pockets.”

In spite of himself, Steve feels his professional demeanor slip. Theoretically, he shouldn’t contradict an employer. Then theoretically, an employer shouldn't say shady things, Steve thinks, which dovetails right into him telling Howard, “Sir, I don’t want to fool anyone.”

Casually noting Tony's interest in the face of Howard's vexation, Steve continues, “I just want to show people that war may be a necessary evil, but that it doesn’t absolve us from humanitarianism; that we’re committed to improvement, not conflict.”

“That’s good,” Howard chuckles. “That should convince the hippies on the West Coast. Believe it or not, we still have investors in the Bay who are cagey about giving us money all because we’re in the weapons business.”

Tony sits up, features growing tight and resolute. “But SI makes more than enough profit to cover that gap.”

Howard’s expression grows abruptly thunderous. “You’re out of your goddamn mind,” he retorts harshly, and Steve starts in surprise.

What he’d assumed was normal tension between a straightlaced father and an incorrigible son gets quickly shadowed by the flash of real fear in Tony’s eyes. It isn’t there for long. Tony schools his features in seconds, relaxing back into a marvelous, calculated insolence, but Steve is hard pressed to be fooled.

“We’re not Santa Claus, to be out saving the whole world,” Howard continues. “Even a charitable foundation needs good business sense before it needs blind optimism, or do you think your mother’s bleeding heart is enough to keep the lights on? ”

Tony grows steely. “Look, I just meant--”

“Meant,” Howard echoes derisively. “I’ve told you once, I told you a hundred times, Anthony: what you _meant_ doesn’t count for shit.”

“Sir, that’s enough.” Steve keeps his voice deliberately low, but it’s enough to stun both Starks into pin drop silence.

Howard looks predictably incensed at being challenged. Tony mostly looks surprised. Surprised, and grateful in a way that strikingly reminds Steve of his own youth--of boys twice his size, of blood flowing from his split lip or broken nose, of the first time Bucky extended a hand to lift him off the ground and Steve had stared at it like a goddamn miracle. It’s that same look in Tony’s eyes which makes him throw diplomacy out the window.

“I spent weeks preparing for this interview,” Steve gets in before Howard can rebuke him. “Everyone who knows me knows how I bad I wanted this job, and it’s not because I want to create press releases for profit, but because I want everyone to know Mrs. Stark’s work when they see it.”

Steve begins gathering up his samples, not-so-accidentally brushing Tony’s fingertips with his own. “But I won’t work with bullies, no matter the business sense.”

Howard contemptuously pushes the portfolio away. “I’d watch my tone, if I were you.”

“Well, sir, you’re not me,” Steve counters caustically, and snaps his binder shut. Standing up, he doesn’t have much of a height advantage, but a withering look taken from the best of Peggy’s repertoire works just as well. “But let me know when you catch up.”

Howard grows livid. “Get out!”  

-

_They couldn’t stop kissing. Neither of them were terribly patient, it appeared, and Tony’s excited chatter might have kept them from sullying the cab on their ride over to the nicest building Steve had ever seen, but all bets were off once the elevator closed._

_They stumbled into Tony’s apartment, still attached at the lips. Steve had enough wits about him to observe that it was a studio, but one that probably cost more than most folks’ entire houses. The bed in the corner looked like a literal mound of heaven, but if Tony’s hands didn’t stop wandering, they weren’t going to make it._

_Steve gasped when they ran roughly over his chest and plowed through to his shoulders so Tony could mumble ‘Off!’ while relieving Steve of his coat. The garment slipped off to pool at their feet and Tony inhaled sharply._

_Suddenly holding Steve at arm’s length, he tilted his head and drunkenly declared. “You’re tiny!”_

_Steve instinctively flinched, but before he could draw away, Tony swooped in for what he’d later dub the hug-and-fly technique and try to accost Steve with it at least thrice before the night was over._

_“Hey, careful!” Steve yelped as soon as he got over the shock of being picked up and whirled around like a Disney princess. “My jacket—Tonyyyy!”_

_Tony giggled dizzily and leaned up for another messy kiss. “I’ll buy you another.”_

_“Not in time, you won’t,” Steve squirmed until Tony unlocked his hands and put him down. “My inhaler’s in there.”_

_“Oh,” Tony moaned more than spoke, then his eyes flew open and he scurried a few steps back from Steve’s reaching fingers. “Uh, are you going to be ok?”_

_“I’ll be fine,” Steve replied, moving his poor, vulnerable jacket to safer ground. “It’s just for emergencies. Trust me, it takes a lot for me to lose my breath these days.”_

_“Oh?” Tony casually grabbed the collar of his own t-shirt and pulled the whole thing off in one fluid motion so he was both, exposed and artfully disheveled._

_Steve’s breath caught instantly and very audibly._

_“You were saying…?” Tony teased, eyes glimmering._

_Steve swallowed. “Well, there are exceptions.”_

-

Steve barely makes it out of Stark Industries imposing headquarters before a familiar tightness in his chest fairly warns him to take a break. Even so, he stubbornly marches to the farthest end of the building block before seeking refuge in an empty bus shelter. Because why give Howard the satisfaction of seeing him keel over from an asthma attack on Stark property when a narrow bench and an illuminated ad for Vibranium brand condoms would do just fine?

Once there, Steve lets his portfolio slide to the ground and shoves one hand into his pocket to feel for his inhaler. When it comes up empty, he sternly wills himself not to panic. Panicking only made things worse, but it becomes hard to remain calm when the other pocket is also empty and he can’t even remember if he’d bought along a spare—

“Hey!” a familiar voice calls out.

Tony barrels into the bus shelter just in time to see Steve’s best impression of a goldfish out of water. Luckily, he’s also brandishing Steve’s rescue inhaler.

“I thought it was you,” Tony looks triumphant. “You left this behind and I remembered you…Jesus, Steve!”

The gist of what Steve remembers after is the familiar woodsy smell of Tony’s expensive cologne, a litany of anxious concern, and some awkward mishaps of someone new to dealing with medical emergencies. Happily, it ends with Tony shoving the uncapped inhaler between Steve’s shaking fingers and guiding it to his lips.  

Moments later, Steve counts his breaths while Tony settles down on the bench beside him to rub his back, unasked. Warmth blooms over his spine in slow circles, moves up to his shoulders, and drapes pleasantly over the nape of his neck. Ultimately, however, it’s knowing that Tony is there, safe, beside him that unravels the tightness in Steve’s chest until it’s a distant memory.

Steve shivers when Tony turns and kisses his shoulder. For a moment, everything feels right with the world. Like most good things, it’s fleeting.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says roughly. A moment passes, not awkward, but light with gladness at being together again. “I didn’t want to leave you there.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause you missed the look on Howard’s face,” Tony counters mildly, then chuckles. “Back when you were all _‘But let me know when you catch up’..._ ” He raises his chin and brassily snaps his fingers in cartoonish imitation of Steve telling off his father. “I thought he was going to burst a vein, and then you marched, _marched_ , out that door like James fucking Bond?!”

“You,” Tony breathes wondrously, eyes twinkling as he points leisurely nudges Steve with his shoulder. “are a badass, Steve the artist. And, I’m just gonna come out and say it: that was the most awesome thing anyone’s done for me.”

Steve tries and fails to match Tony’s earnest smile. The disquiet he felt in Howard’s office lingers still, even as he clasps Tony's hand hovering on his chest. Steve focuses on the pliable warmth of it, on the delicate bones and rough callouses, because if he doesn’t, he’ll get angry all over again.

“I don’t mean to make things difficult,” he starts.

“Difficult?” Tony echoes, with a frown that only grows more curious when Steve cups the side of his face.

“Tony, are you...I’m just…” Steve falters, unsure, and frustrated with himself for it. How do you ask someone if their parent was the hitting kind? In the end, he decides on plain words. Tony is too important to him to dance around this subject. “Is he going to hurt you?”

Tony’s eyes lift in surprise, then grow affectionately soft. He leans forward to brush his lips against Steve’s and says, "No, he won’t. I mean, I won’t lie—he’s pissed off after being yelled at by what he considers ‘the help’,” Once again, Tony teeters on the verge of laughter before growing sober. “But he’s not gonna hit me."

It doesn’t put all of Steve’s monumental worries to rest, but it’s something. Scooting closer on the bench, he pulls Tony into a hug and unhappily rests his chin on soft, dark hair. He also tightens his arms, squeezing Tony tightly as if to say: _if you need me, I’ll be there_.

For his part, Tony sidles up contentedly, his breath whooshing warmly along Steve’s collarbones. The sound of his organic circuitry blends with the white noise of the city at midmorning, and with each moment that passes, Steve only grows more unwilling to part.

“Keep your phone on,” Tony mumbles eventually. “Mom gets final say anyway, and I know she’ll want you.”

Steve finds himself smiling at how comfortable ‘Mom’ sounds on Tony’s tongue. “You sound so sure.”

Tony pulls away slightly, and looks up at Steve with mild reproach. “You saying I don’t know my own mother, Rogers?”

Steve taps a kiss on his forehead. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Hmph,” Tony rolls his eyes, but slips back into their embrace.

“Still on for dinner?” Steve asks after they’ve luxuriated in each other for a few moments more. “I could use someone to celebrate my new job with.”

Tony nods. “Wear something nice,” he says. “Something form fitting. I want to try our—shh, too late, it’s our move now—hug-and-fly again.”

Steve sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
